The Observer
by yeah-well-hey
Summary: The Joker has a conversation with a conspiracy theorist on the subway.


**Note: I wrote the conspiracy theorist in this story with actor Ben Foster in mind.  
**

* * *

He walks in at the very last moment and the subway doors go _whoosh_. Then he gives a little laugh, a maniacal chuckle like he's in on a private joke. With both hands, he pushes back his slimy hair and quickly finds himself a seat, right next to some guy with a golden beard and a sloppy-looking beanie on his head.

The passengers are all aligned, sitting quietly in an orderly fashion. Like cattle about to enter the slaughterhouse. The Joker snorts, then turns to see what his neighbor's up to.

He's just reading the paper. No, he's not just reading it. He's got a yellow highlighter, and he's highlighting words, sentences, _entire paragraphs_.  
"I fucking knew it," the guy mumbles, and keeps on highlighting.  
The Joker stares at him, smiling, but not really smiling. It's kind of a permanent thing for him. The stranger shakes his head and his lips suddenly curl. His mouth is dense with brace-straightened teeth.  
"_Mo-ther-fu-ckers!_" he sneers, then chews on the other end of his highlighter as he crosses and uncrosses his legs.  
Leaning over, the Joker tries to figure out what's got his neighbor so worked up. He sees the words _Gotham National Bank_ but can't really tell what the fuss is all about. Goldibeard's too agitated and he won't sit still.  
"Uhm…. Excuse me, I don't mean to bother, I really don't, but… uh, may I ask what you're _doing?_" the Joker finally inquires.  
Goldibeard abruptly turns toward him, with a crazed look in his steel-blue eyes. Like he only just noticed he's got a new neighbor sitting beside him.  
"Me?"  
"Yeah… _You._"  
"I'm just connecting the dots, man," he replies, then gets back to work.  
"Connecting the dots? What exactly do you _mean?_"  
"Well, they, they, they got this entire map spread out, but they don't show you the links. They just lay 'em all out here, all the dots, all scattered, and you gotta see the big picture."  
His voice is boyish, it sounds younger than he is.  
"You mean, like a _scheme?_"  
"A scheme, yes. It's all one gigantic fucking scheme. All the news stories, they're connected. Today's obscure obituary with tomorrow's headline. Yesterday's front-page story with last week's petty crime column. Nothing stands alone."  
"Hmm."  
Goldibeard defiantly looks up at the Joker. He notices the scars on his face, the dark circles under his sinister eyes.  
"Not convinced? Lemme show you, alright? Just lemme show you," he says.  
"By all means…"  
He puts the highlighter away and grabs his camo backpack from underneath his seat, then unzips it open. After fumbling through it for a few seconds, he pulls out a newspaper from an absurd stash of various publications. Then he unfolds it, goes straight to page six.  
"Look, man, check it out. This is last month's paper. Monday's edition."  
"Do you carry around all the papers you read?" the Joker wonders, slightly annoyed.  
"No, man, just up to two months. Everything else is at home. I don't wanna hurt my back."  
"Right…"  
"Anyway, so last month, this story came out in The Gotham Times. About Bastiano Maroni, Salvatore Maroni's uncle's funeral. That'd be Sal Maroni, the notorious gangster. Anyway, the article gives a few names, a sort of unofficial guest list. Some known, others, obscure characters nobody's ever heard of. One of which is this man, Lennart Henriksen. See, he's in this group picture here."  
Nudging the Joker, he sticks the paper under his nose to better show him the black-and-white shot.  
"So?"  
"_So?_ I'll tell you why this is interesting. They specifically name him, a nobody, as a message to those in the know. Check it out. Today's paper features an article about Gotham National Bank's new manager. Guess what his name is. _Lennart Henriksen._ I'll bet you a thousand dollars Maroni's gang's just found a bank to protect their laundered money, and for free. Considering the fact Lennart went to Sal's uncle's funeral, they must be close friends. And I'll bet you another thousand that other mobsters, like the Russians, are also gonna get a slice of the pie. That's why they named Lennart in last month's article. Along with this here article, it's like an open invitation to Gotham's criminal organizations. And the press is in on it."  
"Impressive… Quite the _schemers_, aren't they?"  
The Joker clicks his tongue and waits for an answer.  
"Yeah, schemers," Goldibeard says. "You can call them that."  
"Don't you just _hate_ schemers?"  
"I do, I fucking do."  
Ah, a man after the Joker's own heart.  
"How pathetic their efforts are," the Joker continues. "I mean, thinking they can control everything."  
"But they _do._ I mean, them, and, like, Them, man."  
"Them who?"  
"Them who's behind all this. The main schemers."  
"Someone ought to teach them a lesson…"  
"Impossible. They're like a Hydra. You cut off one head, four new ones grow. They can't be stopped."  
"No, I mean, _really_ teach them a lesson. An actual lesson. Show them how foolish they are, how they can't control everything. How their silly little plans are no match for _chaos_. They'll understand soon. Trust me."  
"Right. Anyway, this was just one example. I've got so many other — "  
"Say, what's your opinion on the Batman?" the Joker interrupts him, inclining his head and then briefly licking his lips.  
"The Batman? He's a phony. A government project."  
"A what?"

Goldibeard stuffs the papers in his backpack, then digs into his pockets to find a cigarette, which he doesn't light up, just sticks in his mouth.  
"Look, man. The guy's clearly with the army. Just how do you suppose he's got money for all the expensive gadgets he uses? It's all military prototypes, and he's testing them out on Gotham's criminals. He's, like, a super soldier of the future. The City lets him operate and try out the army's stuff, and in exchange, he helps the police clear out some of the human scum."  
"Sounds a little far-fetched to me."  
"Not at all. It's solid. In fact, I've got proof. Not on me, but… See, I got this friend. He's a car engineer. Does contracts for all kinds of companies. A while back, he was watching the news, and saw the Batmobile. Called me up immediately, said he recognized it. His own fucking work. Well, not all his own, but anyway, that's beside the point. Years ago, he helped design a prototype vehicle for an anonymous enterprise. All for the military, who, officially anyway, never actually bought it. Bullshit, of course. They must have purchased the design and made Batman's car themselves."  
Analyzing the dirt under his fingernails, the Joker shakes his head.  
"Nope, you got it all wrong, you got it _all wrong_. This car thing may be true, but… Batman, he's not with the schemers. He's a freak, an outcast. Just like you… and me."  
Goldibeard snaps, and rips the cigarette out from between his teeth.  
"Who you callin' a freak, freak?"  
"No need to get all worked up. I just think your theory's a bit… _wonky._ You don't seem to realize Batman's true nature. He'll never be like them. He's different."  
"Whatever, man, I shared with you, I told you stuff. If you don't believe me, it's your own problem. Everybody thinks I'm fucking crazy, but I'm not, okay, I'm not. I'm saner than half this fucking town."  
"But is insanity such a bad thing, considering what sane people do these days?"  
"Fucking zombies, I swear," Goldibeard says, ignoring the Joker's question. "They hear you say something they don't like, something that disrupts their routine, and that's it, they label you a nut. You… You beat the fuck out of one guy to convince him cellphones are, like, fucking tracers, and that somehow makes you a psycho."  
"You like to use your fists, do you?"  
"No, my primary weapon is knowledge. But sometimes you need to get physical. I'm not the tallest guy around, but you don't wanna mess with me. I used to do illegal cage fighting in my spare time."  
"Ah."  
"You a fighter too? What's up with those scars on your face, anyway?" Goldibeard suddenly asks.  
But it doesn't surprise the Joker. Sooner or later, everyone mentions them. Which puts a fatal end to many conversations.  
"I was too serious," he simply states.  
"D'you get mugged? Or d'you do this to yourself?"  
"You really wanna know how I got these scars…?" the Joker says, reaching into the right pocket of his dark purple hoodie and feeling the cool surface of his favourite switchblade.  
"Nah," Goldibeard answers. "Forget I asked. I mean, at the end of the day, I don't actually give a fuck about your life's story. I won't be hypocrite and pretend that I do."  
"Too much curiosity _can_ be dangerous."  
As the Joker removes his hand from his pocket, he eyes Goldibeard's damaged Dr. Martens and the sticker on his left boot. A bat symbol, with the phrase _Question Your Heroes_ written across it.  
"Whatever, man."  
"This city's in for quite a treat," the Joker declares. "When it all happens, you'll be the first to know who's behind it. You'll be the conspiracy theorist who's ahead of the curve."  
"I'm not a theorist. I'm a factist."  
"If you say so…"  
"You're up to something, aren't you?"  
"Me…?" the Joker exclaims, placing a hand over his chest as if to plead for his innocence. "I don't scheme. I'm not a schemer. I just go ahead and _do_ things, you know?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
"Well, I don't make things up. _I_ just _see_ things. I'm an observer."  
"Is that all you wanna be? What about being an active participant?"  
"Not my style."  
"That's too bad, that's really too bad."

Goldibeard rises from his seat, zips his fake Adidas jacket and makes the death metal band logo on his t-shirt disappear underneath it. Not that anyone could read it anyway.  
"Well, this is gonna be my stop," he says as he slips on his backpack. "Was nice talking to you, I guess."  
"Keep connecting the dots," the Joker tells him.  
"Will do. Name's Dex, by the way. What's yours?"  
The Joker stares at him with a strange gleam in his eyes.  
"You'll find out mine soon enough."  
"See you at Arkham's," Dex answers, walking backwards, and disembarking with a smile.


End file.
